


Me and the Devil

by Cunninglinguist



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Beard Burn, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Desk Sex, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fear, Forced Orgasm, Gratuitous Smut, I REGRET NOTHING, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multiple Orgasms, Name-Calling, Negan's Big Dick, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, cursing, dark fantasies, do not try this at home, fucked up inner monologue, nothing in here is very healthy, oh boy where do i begin?, warped perception of reality, zombie apocalypse struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunninglinguist/pseuds/Cunninglinguist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I received this prompt on the Tumbles from a lovely anon who knows exactly what I'm about:</p><p>I have a promt for you if you don't mind? Let's say the reader is just as unstable as Negan and his followers and she gets really turned after he kills someone, which results in crazy smut.</p><p>Let's just say it kind of got away from me...exactly what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chapter fic! This will be either 2 or 3 chapters depending on how I decide to divide it up, so stay tuned my thirsty friends.
> 
> Standard disclaimers: This work is unbeta'd, and I don't own the Walking Dead or Negan (sadly).

It wasn’t often that I reflected on the way that things used to be _before_ , but it was sometimes inevitable. One’s memory is a fallible, unreliable resource, however, and often I wasn’t sure if the things that I was remembering—the feelings, the events, even the people—were actually real…or a figment of my warped imagination, constantly suspended in the space between waking moments and fantasy: a coping mechanism. 

I remembered the difference between feeling fear, even discomfort, now, versus the same feelings then. All fear feels catastrophic at the time, but nothing that I had experienced _before_ could ever hold a candle to the constant horror that had become my reality. It’s numbing in a way to know that each time I turn around, each sound of a twig snapping in the woods could be my death knell. The urgency, the panic—it was strong and acrid, bleeding into one’s aura: pheromones for the aggressors. And in this world, aggressors were not in short supply. 

I distinctly recalled the razor sharp, fevered panic that I felt when I first met Negan, though the man I had been with before had been no prize. I’d known him from _before_ , or so I’d thought—his kind smile never quite reached his eyes, but I had trusted him as I clutched tightly to the last shreds of a world without this affliction. However, he had quickly snuffed out those dim lights of hope. He took whatever he wanted from me, whenever he wanted it, but he was what I had come to understand as stability in this chaotic world. Plus, these days, having someone by your side, someone to share those days on the run and those long, sleepless nights—no matter who that someone was—was all that mattered.

Once we’d been surrounded by Negan and his Saviors, Negan had immediately dispatched of the man that I had known, finding his rhetoric (and his violent outburst towards one of the Saviors) distasteful. I had shaken like a leaf throughout the interminable, noisy slaughter, but I hadn’t looked away—not when thick maroon droplets splattered across my thighs, not when the noises emanating from the man on the ground became unidentifiable as human, not when all hints of breath had ceased and the only sound remaining was the sickening crack of wood and wire shattering bone and disseminating viscera…

When it was done, Negan had approached me with a furrowed brow and a curious smile. He gazed down at me and pointed the bat, Lucille, directly in my face. The waves of nausea that I had expected at seeing and smelling the dripping blood, pieces of skull, and brain caught in the barbed wire never came. Instead, I had felt oddly serene. My eyes had travelled up the bat to meet his gaze.

"You watched," he’d said. Gesturing to the mangled corpse behind him, he continued, "that was your friend, and you fucking watched me beat the ever-loving shit out of him."

Adrenaline had coursed through my veins, causing me to tremble before him--but I didn't fear for my own fate. 

"That wasn't my friend," I had murmured, my eyes never leaving Negan's face. 

I had found it shockingly satisfying and empowering to watch the life slip from my former companion's eyes (when his eyes were still rooted in their sockets). At the time, I had wondered if I had felt that way because of the kind of man he had been and the kind of treatment he had shown me.

Now, however, I knew that _who he was_ had nothing to do with the feelings that I felt as I watched Negan bring Lucille down time and time again on the skulls of so many others. They were the people who existed solely to create discord, to spit on the reconstruction of civilization, and consequently to subjugate and silence, people who wanted to build their story on top of that which the Saviors had built.

That _Negan_ had built.

At first, I hadn’t said much to Negan— the way the Saviors spoke about him as if he were some kind of omnipotent ruler, almost a god, both fascinated me and deterred me from approaching him. I had kept my head down and tried to focus on my assigned tasks. 

The Saviors were somehow both terrifying and fearful, making it easy for me to fit right in without worrying too much about unpleasant and unnecessary human interactions. I had transitioned from one form of fear to the next, falling in line quickly, taking up duties mostly related to cleaning or handling inventory. 

(One day, as I sorted bullets into their allotted compartments, I came to the realization that I could no longer recall the name of the man I'd been with before. I hoped I'd never remember.)

Negan never seemed to have an issue speaking to me, though—in fact, he went out of his way to interact with me, much more so than with most of the other new people. He’d say hello to me in passing, he’d ask me how I was feeling, and eventually he asked me if I was ever going to say anything to him. He asked if I was angry with him for bludgeoning my former companion to death in front of me—I shook my head no. 

 

“Well then, what the fuck is it?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “Aren’t you fuckin’ glad to be in here instead of on the run? I could have fucking left you out there. Fuck, maybe I fucking should have!”

“Of course I’m glad to be here,” I mumbled, my eyes quickly darting to the concrete between my shoes. “I don’t wanna fuck it up. Seen what you can do, what you have done. Don’t want it to happen to me.”

He snorted a laugh— _snorted_ —before reaching out and resting his hand gently on my shoulder. 

That moment was immortalized in time—frozen, suspended—my memory would be infallible in its recollection of this gesture. At the exact second his hand rested on my shoulder, an electric current suffused my flesh, penetrating to the bone, forcing each hair on my body to stand at attention, blood heating my face as I made eye contact with him. I saw _everything_ in his eyes—they were like no other eyes that I had ever seen, not on anyone _before_ and certainly not on anyone since the world turned. My breath caught in my throat as my gaze travelled languidly down his face to rest on his full, smirking lips. 

And just like that, the moment was over—his hand had slid softly down my shoulder before returning to his side, and he was walking away, regarding me curiously from the corner of his eye. 

For the first time since before the world transitioned violently from _before_ to after, I _wanted_ someone.

That night, I touched myself for the first time since I’d arrived at the Sanctuary. I’d turned my face into the rough pillowcase to muffle my breathy moans of delight as I thought of Negan and his plush-looking lips, his dark eyes, the way his face looked as Lucille connected with his victim’s head, the way it looked immediately after, sometimes splattered with blood (ooh, that was the best), the sound of his labored breathing, audible between the screams and cracks and crunches and splashes and sprays and the gasps and gurgles and the sighs…I wondered if his breathing got all ragged like that when he fucks, and I gripped the bed sheet so tightly my knuckles turned white as my body shuddered through spasm after spasm of highly concentrated pleasure, fluid running down my fingers and dripping onto my inner thighs. 

As I lay in my bed panting, I felt oddly emboldened by my growing sexual attraction to Negan. I made the conscious decision to actually speak to him after that night.

A few days after, some people whose names I probably should have known returned from a run with several new items to be inventoried. As I helped them bring the bags and boxes into the basement, Negan appeared in my periphery. Shit. It was time to make good on my decision. 

"I usually don't do this sort of shit," he said, following me into the basement and the dumping a bag of yellow-orange prescription pill bottles onto the table next to me.

After some rummaging, he held a bottle up, smirking, and shook its contents. "Sometimes there's good shit in here, though."

In an attempt to play it cool, I smiled thinly. I pushed a box of bandages into the center of the table and ticked it off in my notebook. "What is it?"

Pocketing the bottle, he waggled his eyebrows. "A little something to dull the pain."

I nodded and desperately tried to ignore the heated pull in my gut. We fell into a surprisingly easy silence as we counted our respective piles. I did my best to remain casual, trying to discourage my persistent fantasies about the man beside me from seeping into the forefront of my mind and consequently making an already tedious task even worse.

After a time, he stretched, cracking his back loudly, and asked almost flippantly, “So, before all this, what was your favorite book?”

I blushed furiously, completely taken off guard. Had Negan really just asked about my favorite _book_? For a moment, I was transported back to my college days—seated on a futon, nursing a glass of wine, bullshitting with friends. Christ, that seemed like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was.

Almost automatically, I answered, “Faust.”

He laughed. It was a deep, rich sound that garnered looks of surprise from the two other Saviors in the room and lit me up from the inside. "Damn! Never read it, but I heard it’s some heavy fucking shit," he said, mischief dancing behind his eyes. I almost lost myself for a moment, blushing hard, wondering deliriously if this man, the feared god-king of the fucking Saviors, had decided to spend his afternoon counting bottles of medicine just to talk to me. 

“It still is my favorite book, that hasn’t changed just because of the current state of affairs, “ I said, clearing my throat, fiddling with a box of bandages and realizing that I had completely lost count. “And yours?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, a cheeky grin splitting his face. “The fucking King James Bible.”

A foreign warmth washed over me. For the first time since I don’t remember when, I laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut to come...
> 
> Comments and kudos are my life's blood.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://hannibalssweaters.tumblr.com/)! Send me all of your Negan headcanons/prompts, or whatever!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between the reader and our favorite, bat-wielding psycho progress.

When Negan asked me to come with him to a “meet and greet” a few nights after our inventory encounter, I was vaguely bothered by my complete lack of hesitation before agreeing. I thought that he’d noticed it, too, but I wasn’t sure. Could anyone be sure of anything these days?

Well, there was one thing that was a given: whoever had been pulled into the Saviors’ orbit was about to experience something…unpleasant. Poor fucks.

 

"These fucking people seem to think they don't have to work with me," he said incredulously, easily slinging Lucille over his shoulder as we traipsed across the Sanctuary towards the front gate. 

"Sounds like they don't get it," I replied, my fingers absently tracing the revolver at my waist. ("Just in case," Negan had said earlier as he slipped the holster around my waist. I tried not to think about his fingers grazing the sliver of bare flesh between the hem of my shirt and the top of my leggings...tried and failed.)

"They sure fuckin' don't," Negan agreed, shaking his head. "But they're about to."

I shivered, which I pretended was a byproduct of the twilight chill. 

The people who had been brought within the gates of The Sanctuary were already on their knees, trembling, surrounded by armed Saviors. Their terror was so palpable I could nearly feel it vibrating in the space surrounding them. Why did he need me there when he already had so many stronger, fiercer, armed-to-the-teeth soldiers with him? What could I possibly bring to this encounter?

"Well, well, fuckin' well," boomed Negan, swinging his bat as he sauntered forward. "Looky here."

I moved to stand by the man to my left (I think his name was Dwight), who looked on as Negan paced, his steps languid, intentional, maximizing the horrifying anticipation for them...my heart rate picked up as he loomed above them, power embodied. They gazed up in awed panic, matching his face and his weapon to his reputation, the gears in their minds whirring as they struggled to figure some way --any way--out of the situation before them. 

And Negan was a sight to behold, truly, a wolf in a man’s skin: emotionally intelligent and brutal beyond words. I understood why he did the things he did. If I had been less of an idiot when the world went tits up, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same. Rigid guidelines are the key to reestablishing civilization—when unregulated, people will always turn to anarchy, which was something that I’d learned the hard way.

God help me, Negan was the first person in this world that didn’t make me feel afraid. Blood rushed between my legs as I watched his lips moving as he paced the lineup, gesticulating animatedly as he spoke words that drained the hope from their eyes. Proverbial sheep brought to slaughter, forced to marinate in the feverish dread of the inevitability of their fate before the very eyes of their executioner. 

“You kill…you get killed,” said Negan, roughly pulling one of the sheep forward, a wide eyed young man with a bruised face and a defiant terror in his eyes. The sound of his companions’ protests echoed shrilly in the twilight. The Saviors around me looked on, stepping forward with guns drawn at the slightest sign of movement from anyone; I fell in line, my fingers grazing the butt of my gun, and then it was happening—

Negan lifted Lucille overhead, the leather of his jacket stretching to accommodate his movements, exhaling behind grit teeth with effort as he systematically brought the weapon down. Time seemed to slow: my vision tunneled, the sound of his labored breaths on each downswing harmonizing with each wet, sickening crack as he meted out his judgment. Fragments of bone and flesh danced in the air, punctuated with crimson spray in the most raw and visceral tableau of sheer power that I would ever witness. 

When it was done, Negan loomed over the mangled wreck, panting, sweat glistening on his forehead and a smattering of fresh, dark blood across his cheek, wholly uninterested in the doleful cries of those left in the wake of his wrath.

He turned to survey all of us, his Saviors; maybe he was scanning for signs of disgust, or for the smallest beginning of a bloom of insubordination, until his eyes stopped dead on me. I squeezed my thighs together and swallowed thickly as he flayed me alive with his gaze, deconstructing my feeble façade of indifference, reading my thoughts. 

I exhaled shakily when he broke eye contact to say to Dwight, “Take them back where you found them.” With a dismissive glance back at the surviving sheep, who wept and wailed around the remains of their friend, he said, “Hopefully, the next time we all get together like this, it’ll end a little fuckin’ better for you. For all of us, really.”

He nodded at Dwight, who split off with the majority of the Saviors to carry out the order. 

“Come on,” he said to me, leading the way back. I quickened my pace to catch up to him as he strode through the grass, gore-slicked Lucille resting on his shoulder, the tacky congealed blood on both his weapon and his face glinting in the moonlight. 

A strange energy poured off of him, something powerful, barely bridled, steeping the silent space between us in a tense anticipation. I wiped my sweaty palms on my leggings as discreetly as I could and tried not to think too hard about the things that I wanted him to do to me, the things that I would be imagining the second that I had a private moment to shove my hand down my pants and get lost in my fantasies…

“I saw you watching again,” he said, his voice startling me. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “I think you fucking get off on it.”

Heat rushed to my face, followed immediately by cold horror as I heard myself brazenly blurt out, “So what if I do?”

He stopped walking and turned to me, his eyebrows raised like he hadn’t expected that response. I struggled to backpedal. “I mean…I don’t get off on it…it’s just…”

He saw me floundering and did not assist, choosing instead to allow a wolfish grin to part his lips as he watched me fumble for the right words, like a fox watching a wounded bird struggle to escape. 

“It’s just that you’re so powerful,” I said, the words rushing from me like water from a freshly broken dam. And fuck, once they started, my wicked thoughts kept gushing forth: “They all fear you. It’s how you keep them in line. Without the fear, they wouldn’t be able to control themselves long enough to have any hope of rebuilding a society with a semblance of useful structure. It’s amazing, really, how you’ve done all this…”

Shit, I was getting a little lightheaded. I trailed off and squeezed my thighs together, but he was already crossing the space to stand before me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath on my face.

“Is that fuckin’ right?” he asked lowly, his eyes travelling the length of my body, devouring me. “Sounds like you want to fuck me. You fucking want to fuck me after watching me crush that fucker’s head in?”

“Yes,” I breathed, holding his gaze but melting under his scrutiny. I felt a vague, unfamiliar curl of guilt in my gut: I knew I should be ashamed of myself, and maybe somewhere, in a parallel universe, I was…but now? No fucking way. My blood rushed almost deafeningly through my veins—could he be interested, too?

He roughly grabbed my waist with his free hand and pressed our pelvises together. I slammed my eyes shut at the feeling of his half hard cock in his pants, his breath on my flesh as he bent slightly to whisper in my ear. 

“You’re one fucked up bitch,” he breathed, snaking his hand lower to palm at my ass. “Come on, follow me.”

He grabbed my wrist, pulling me along as he strode purposefully towards his intended destination. I followed, mouth open, in a dreamlike state…was this really happening, or had I truly lost the plot and my fantasies had officially overthrown reality? 

I decided that I didn't fucking care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for staying with me on this self-indulgent, multi-chapter extravaganza! The next chapter will be the conclusion of this little tale, and it will consist entirely of overly graphic, super extra smut. >:) I might post it tomorrow, unless I feel like dragging it out for another few days. *villainous cackling*
> 
> The title for this work came from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xd9LpME3jnk) absolutely enchanting Soap&Skin song of the same name; I highly suggest that you give it a listen and feel what I feel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader gets to know Negan in a more...biblical way. (AKA, this chapter is 1000% straight up porn.)

Somehow, we made it back to the factory, up some splintery staircase and into what must have been Negan’s personal quarters. He set Lucille down and rounded on me.

I tried to control my heavy breathing, but it was impossible when his hands were everywhere, squeezing my breasts through my shirt, then slipping beneath the hem and pulling up. I lifted my arms, letting him toss my shirt to the floor before he reached behind me, unclasped my bra, and slid it off my shoulders in one swift movement. My nipples stiffened under his appraising gaze, and I let out a moan when he rubbed his fingers over them, then down my trembling stomach to tease at my waistband and unhook the gun holster. 

He stopped then, his hands retreating to unzip his own leather jacket. Eyes shining with malicious intent, he moved back a few steps to lean against his desk. 

“Well?” he said, pulling his red scarf off and placing it on the surface behind him. “Take off your fucking pants.”

Fingers trembling, I obeyed, slipping my fingers into the waistband of my leggings and sliding them to the floor. 

He nodded at my black boyshorts. “Those too.”

I nodded and went to slip out of them, but nearly jumped a foot in the air when his voice boomed, “Wait—turn around. And go slowly. Show me that ass.”

Fucking hell! He was going to kill me. I heard him inhale sharply as I bent at the waist and parted my thighs slightly to give him as much of a show as possible as I slowly slid my panties to the ground. Oh shit, I could do this all day. 

“Mmm, that is a fucking a-plus caboose you got there, baby,” he said, his words punctuated by the sound of his own zipper. “Enough fucking around. Get on your knees.”

I obeyed thoughtlessly, consumed entirely by my own lust. He cocked an eyebrow, still entirely clothed with the exception of his impressive erection. Saliva flooded my mouth.

Long fingers beckoned me forward. “Get over here. It’s not gonna fucking suck itself.”

Heart thundering in my chest, I crawled to him. As soon as I was at his feet, I caressed his legs, eager to get my hands on as much of his body as he’d let me. I shuddered at the strength of his muscled calves and thighs beneath the fabric of his pants. 

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked it, forcing our eyes to meet. He grinned predatorily as I licked my lips, my fingers stroking along the knife holster that wrapped around his right thigh.

With a glance to my questing fingers, he asked, “Want me to leave that on?”  
Mouth wet and open, I stared up at him through my lashes to nod fervently. Wetness trickled slowly down my inner thigh as I wondered briefly how much blood that knife had spilled, and what that knife would feel like pressed against my throat… 

“Where the fuck have you been all apocalypse?” he asked, his breath hitching as he guided his length into my waiting mouth. The weight of him was magnificent—I moaned around him before beginning to suck in earnest. I brought a hand up to squeeze his ass as I rubbed my fingertips against the hilt of the knife. Negan kept his tight grip on my hair as he murmured profane praise. I preened and doubled my efforts, my own excitement climbing steadily--I could do _this_ all day everyday. 

I cried out in protest when he yanked me by the hair, pulling me suddenly off of his length. A thick string of drool hung between my lower lip and his cock.

“Jesus tap-dancing Christ,” he said breathlessly. “Almost blew my load in that slutty fucking mouth of yours.”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked hoarsely, my knees aching where the floor bit into them. The discomfort only heightened my arousal. 

“Because I’m not fucking done with you yet,” he replied, his lips curling in a snarl. He pulled me up to my feet and pushed me up against the wall, hard. My mind raced as his fingers slid between my legs and rubbed against my opening. 

“Shit,” he growled, “You’re so fucking wet, just from sucking my dick. You don’t even need what I’m about to do.”

“Oh fuck!” I cried out as he dropped to his knees, throwing my left leg over his shoulder with ease before spreading my cunt and plunging his tongue inside of me.

My fingers tangled in his hair as he licked me out expertly, like it was his job: alternating forceful fucks with fervent, sloppy licks to my clit and occasional harsh sucks that made my toes curl. Fuck, all the fantasies in the world were no match for how he moaned as he worked, like he was loving it more than I was (if such a thing were possible), kissing my cunt like I imagined he might kiss my mouth. 

“Negan, your mouth feels so fucking good,” I whimpered brokenly, dizzy from the pleasure, my hips aching as I writhed against his face. “I’m gonna—oh, shit, I’m gonna---“ 

His beard scraped against my inner thighs as he kept licking and sucking desperately, like he was the one at the mercy of the rapidly building heat in his gut, and then—oh fuck, oh _fuck_ —tears pricked my eyes as the sweet flames of throbbing arousal licked up my spine and exploded into a toe-curling orgasm, sending me spiraling into oblivion as I gasped and moaned his name over and over. My standing leg shook violently as my fingers wrenched his hair in a frantic attempt to remain upright. 

With a final suck against my swollen clitoris, Negan pulled off, breathless. I couldn’t stop gasping and groaning, trembling and arching my back. He latched his mouth onto my inner thigh and sucked, punctuating the movement with a sharp bite that made me scream out. 

“You loved my tongue fucking your cunt, didn’t you? Bet you never fucking came like that in your whole fucking life,” he murmured, sliding my body up the wall and wrapping my right leg around his waist. 

“No, never!” I cried, slamming my head against the wall as I felt the tip of his cock rubbing against my soft, wet entrance. My muscles clenched desperately around him, trying to suck him in. 

His lips hovered over mine, his mouth and chin slick with the evidence of my arousal, dark blood still congealing on his cheek. With a whine, I bucked my hips against him. “You haven’t even been fucked yet,” he murmured, teasing himself against me. “Fuck, I wonder how many more times I can make that pussy come. You want my cock, baby?”

“Please, yes, please,” I gasped, nodding, as I squirmed against him. His eyes darkened further as he pinned my hips to the wall and pushed inside of me. 

It was even better than I had fantasized—he smelled so fucking good, and his cock felt so wonderful and so _big_ that I almost climaxed again as soon as he was inside of me. He started slowly, circling his hips expertly, grinding his significant length into all of my sweetest places like he knew where they were. I kept my eyes on his face, watching his expressions as his eyes bored into mine, as he bit his lip and furrowed his brow with effort. As he increased the speed of his hips, thrusting into me harder, the dichotomy of pleasure and the slightest bit of over-stimulated pain became absolute fucking ecstasy. I tipped my head back and moaned.

“Feels good, huh?” he murmured, dipping his head to latch his lips to my neck _just_ fucking right. White-hot arousal shot through my body when he started _sucking_ hard enough to leave a bruise and I squeezed my leg around his waist urgently. 

“Fuck yeah,” I managed, my voice strangled as I felt my muscles tighten around him. The back of my head connected with the wall again as I pulled at his hair and warned, “I’m gonna—“

“Mmm, fuckin’ right, come again,” he growled, his breath hot and damp against my neck as his fingernails bit into the fleshiest part of my ass. He pulled back to look at my face, before continuing, “Soak me with that pussy juice baby, show me how much you love my fucking cock.”

“Please, God…” I mewled, clutching at him for dear life, utterly at his mercy.

“No, not God,” he corrected gruffly, gripping me tighter and thrusting faster. “Negan.”

“Negan!” I wailed, squeezing my thighs around his magnificent body as the dam within me broke again and I came, and came, and came, my muscles clenching in a seemingly interminable pleasure-spasm. I clutched at his face as I writhed and shuddered, his filthy encouragements extending my exquisite pleasure until finally my body went slack and my face was wet with tears.

“You know…” he said lowly, rapidly pulling his cock out and encircling my waist with his arms. “I saw you out there, earlier. I could fucking tell that your panties were getting all fucking wet from watching me. Fuckin’ knew you wanted this to happen.” 

I bit my lip at his words—of course I’d been obvious, my naked desire translated unabashedly on my face—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d needed to abide a social cue, or school my features since the world had taken a turn—

But that didn’t matter. 

I gasped as Negan lifted my body, and with one small grunt of effort laid me down roughly on the cold, hard surface of his desk. I stared up at him, dazed and panting. My muscles were sore, but, God help me, I wanted more of whatever he was willing to give me. He shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it to the side, now clad in only his white undershirt, before catching my eye and roughly pushing my thighs apart. I reached up to grip at his shirt and whined, desperate to see his body. 

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head as he quickly pulled the shirt off and tossed it to the ground. He gestured to his bare torso and raised an eyebrow. “Like what you see? Huh?”

I propped myself up on my elbows and sucked the drool back into my mouth as I raked my eyes all over him, unsure of where to look first—shit, shit, SHIT! The sight of his perfectly scruffy, heaving chest was enough to send the remnants of my rational mind into a fucking tailspin, but on top of that there were the tattoos…one on his left pec, a handful on both of his arms…Without giving it a second thought, I started rubbing my clitoris and struggling to pull him towards me with my legs. 

“I’ll take that as a resounding fucking affirmative,” he smirked as he reentered me swiftly, slapping my hand away from my cunt. My back bowed off the desk at the sensation of being filled up again so quickly, after two intense orgasms, and, oh Christ, he was spitting on my clit and rubbing it with rough fingertips and I was making high-pitched, wanton noises I hadn’t even known I could make.

“Tell me why the fuck you love watching so much,” he demanded behind grit teeth. 

Every synapse was bursting, exploding like a haphazard fireworks display as his words wormed their way into my mind, setting me ablaze as his cock rubbed against the same beautiful spot inside of me. 

“Your power,” I sighed, remembering vaguely how to speak. Delirious with pleasure-agony, I said, “No one fucks with you, they’re all afraid, they’re all too—ah! Too scared.”

“Are you too fucking scared?” he asked, his large hand travelling from between my thighs to roughly squeeze my breast before wrapping around my throat and _pressing_. 

It was all too much—the heat in my gut had returned with a sharp, agonizing vengeance. I knew I was helpless to stop the sensory overload from crushing me. My hand reached up to claw at his.

“God—Negan, it’s too much, please…”

He pressed down harder, the same murderous intent I had seen in his eyes returning. “Do you fucking fear me?”

Inexplicably finding energy from somewhere I hadn’t even known existed, I pulled his hand from my throat and sat up, pressing our sweat-slick chests together as I stared him dead on with every last scrap of strength in my body and replied, “Fuck no.”

For a moment, through my haze, I could have sworn that a look of amusement and almost bewilderment passed across his face, almost reverence, as he beheld me before suddenly pulling me closer and violently mashing our mouths together, groaning into my mouth as his tongue plunged between my lips, mimicking the rhythm of his cock moving inside of me, and that was it—

“Negan!” I screamed, breaking our kiss to focus on losing my mind as wave upon wave of intense, painful orgasm crashed over me, pummeling me, ripping me apart and unmaking me. 

I heard him groaning as he fucked me through it, then he was pulling out and covering my lower stomach with the thick, copious bursts of his release. I whimpered and sniffled, still convulsing, as he caught his breath above me, his usually neat hair completely wild and his face covered in sweat and the remnants of that blood. 

“You look sexy when you’re wrecked,” I said boldly, once I had regained my ability to speak. My mouth quirked up in the beginning of a smile. I let my legs stay open, my body completely accessible to him, unable to move. The building could have been on fire, and I wouldn’t have cared. 

“Yeah, _I’m_ the bitch who just came three fuckin’ times,” he replied flippantly, coming down on his elbows to suck my nipple into his mouth. He let it go with a loud smack, waggling his eyebrows when I groaned.

I laughed breathlessly. He pushed off of me and stretched theatrically before tucking himself back in his pants and zipped up. “You should clean yourself up,” he said, slapping me on the thigh. “Don’t get any of that fucking cum on my desk.”

I propped myself up on my elbows and raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”

In an instant, he was back between my thighs, looming over me and staring down at me with those dangerous eyes, his teeth bared in a treacherous smile. “Or I’ll tie you to that bed get real fucking creative in finding some ways to make you fear me, baby.”

I shuddered and flopped down onto the desk. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it.
> 
> Kudos and comments are my life's blood, as always. 
> 
> Here's my good ol' [Tumblr](http://hannibalssweaters.tumblr.com/)! Come cry about Negan and other assorted things with me.


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